Chapter 8 - THE RECKONING OF DARIEN
One month after Vesper’s sentencing.
I was sitting in an upscale coffee shop in Rittenhouse Square, finalizing research reports for PharmGuard on my laptop.
A man in an expensive Italian suit walked up to my table.
It was Darien.
He held a leather briefcase, wearing an eighteen-thousand-dollar watch, offering a warm, charismatic smile.
“Rowena,” Darien said softly. “Mind if I sit down?”
I looked up from my laptop, unimpressed. “Yes, actually. I’m working.”
He sat down anyway, placing his expensive leather briefcase on the wooden table.
“I wanted to apologize,” Darien began, pulling off his designer sunglasses. “For how things went down at your parents' house that night. I had no idea Vesper was... well, crazy.”
“Is that so?” I asked, closing my laptop halfway.
“I saw the news about your software acquisition,” Darien continued, leaning forward, flashing his polished smile. “Two point five million up front. Eight million in projected royalties. That’s incredible work, Rowena. I’ve always respected women in tech.”
I let out a short, dry laugh. “Three months ago, you couldn't remember my job title.”
Darien flushed slightly, but recovered quickly. “I was distracted by Vesper’s lies. Look, I run a venture capital firm specializing in international real estate. I’m actually looking for strategic equity partners for a resort development in Cabo.”
He pushed a glossy brochure across the table toward me.
“A two-hundred-thousand-dollar investment gets you a fifteen-percent equity stake,” Darien purred. “We could work together. Build something real.”
I picked up the brochure, looked at the front page, and then set it back down.
“Darien,” I said smoothly. “Do you know what my software actually does?”
He blinked. “It... it organizes pharmacy data, right?”
“It performs predictive risk analysis,” I corrected. “It cross-references massive datasets to identify fraud, hidden liabilities, and systemic risks.”
I pulled my phone out and tapped a screen.
“Two weeks ago,” I said, “I ran a background risk analysis on your company, Vanguard Capital Holdings.”
Darien’s smile froze.
“Your leased Porsche is three months behind on payments,” I stated cleanly. “Your 'international real estate firm' is a registered LLC operating out of a mailbox in Delaware. And you currently owe two hundred and twenty thousand dollars to three different private lenders in New Jersey.”
Darien’s face drained of all color.
“You’re not a venture capitalist, Darien,” I whispered, leaning over the table. “You’re just a male version of Vesper. A broke grifter looking for a rich sponsor.”
Darien grabbed his brochure, his hands shaking violently. “You... you have no right looking into my private finances!”
“I didn't look into them,” I replied coolly. “My software did. And I forwarded the fraud analysis to the Pennsylvania Securities Commission yesterday morning.”
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Darien stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. He grabbed his briefcase, looked around nervously as if federal agents were about to pop out from behind the counter, and bolted out the door into the street.
I picked up my coffee, took a calm sip, and went back to my code.
